Too Y’OLD To Handle

A few months ago I wrote a post about feeling y’old. To be y’old is to live in a state of feeling both young and old at the same time, or to switch back and forth at a dizzying rate.

Recently I found out that if I really want to fully experience the craziness of being y’old, I should go to a Heart concert.

I recently dragged The Husband to said concert. I told him it could count as my birthday present. I also told him we could get Cajun food on the way down. He was sold on the idea of gumbo.

It had been many years since I’ve been to a concert. I really haven’t been to that many. I’m mostly okay with that. I’m deeply introverted and hate crowds, so paying lots of money to go stand with a bunch of strangers for hours isn’t really my jam. But there’s still this tiny part of me that feels like I have Betrayed My Youth by not going to more concerts, and that if I don’t go soon while I’m still young-ish I’ll never have the chance and someday I’ll be sitting in a nursing home staring out the window, a lone tear silently sliding down my cheek as I mutter “oh, if I had only gone to more concerts.”

“What?” says my nurse aide, who can’t understand my old lady mumbling.

“I said I should have gone to more concerts,” Old Lady Me says, grabbing her arm. “You are but a youth. Go. Go to concerts while you still have time. AVENGE ME!”

My young nurse aide will sigh and gesture for security to help her remove my Old Lady Arm Grabbing Death Grip as I continue my lament.

I really don’t know where I get this idea that concerts are essential to youth and longevity, but I’m telling you this nursing home scenario has played out in my head. Yes, I know I’m weird.

The Husband and I arrived at the concert and quickly established that we were the youngest people in sight as far as the eye could see. That helped me feel young. And — in an ironic twist given my brain’s insistence on concerts being For The Young — there was a posse of little old ladies in wheelchairs a few rows ahead of me.

“I did it,” I said to myself. “I’m at a concert. And I’m among the youngest here. That gives me some youthfulness points, right?”

“Does it, though,” said Self. “I mean, you’re the youngest one because this band is popular with your parents’ generation.”

I feel I lost a few youthfulness points for that one.

The website said the concert was going to start at 7. “Oh, that’s nice,” I thought. “Then we shouldn’t be out that late.”

A few Oldness Points were added to my score.

I knew there was an opening act, but what I didn’t know was that there were actually TWO. Once I realized this fact and started doing the math about how late this night was going to be, I got increasingly grouchy and, consequently, felt increasingly Old. I knew I needed some youthfulness points fast or I was going rapidly age myself to death here soon.

“Oh, Elle King is the opener,” I thought. “Most people here probably don’t know who she is because she’s my age. That should help.”

But then Elle King came out.

The Husband commented, “she looks like my grandma dressed for the Kentucky derby.” And all the older than me people started cheering. Apparently they DO know Elle King.

The rapid aging accelerated.

Eventually Heart took the stage around 9:15 PM. I was still grumpy about how late of a night it was going to be, but then I realized that staying out late should surely get me some youthfulness points.

WHOOOOOOOOOOM!!! They hit the stage with a loud and crazy opening number. I felt a tidal wave of Loud strike me in the chest and shake me from the inside out.

“Is this youth?” I thought. “Am I being struck with youthfulness?”

“Well, it’s certainly loudness,” Self replied.

“Whatever. I’m gonna say it’s youthful energy. Y’OLD!” I shouted in my head.

Gradually over the night I lost much of my grumpiness (even though I still didn’t enjoy being packed in a crowd with some really drunk strangers). The band sounded great. It was good to be outside for a long time. I felt bad for The Husband, though. We didn’t get to go to the Cajun place, and he wasn’t super familiar with Heart so he didn’t know much of the music. Though they did a cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” that he greatly enjoyed.

By the time the music ended, I was feeling fully youthful again.

But then it was time to leave.

It took about 45 minutes to get out — 15 minutes to walk to the car and 30 minutes of waiting in traffic. The anxiety was strong. I told The Husband that the next time I started talking about going to a concert, he needed to remind me of this moment.

The rapid aging was starting to set in again as I grumbled about dumb people not knowing how to drive and honking their horns for no reason.

But then The Husband and I determined we NEEDED to find ice cream, even though it was the middle of the night and most places were closed. We drove around a bunch of places near our hotel trying to determine if they were still open. “Eating really late, that’s definitely a young people thing,” I thought to myself.

I’m sure you were curious about my final Age Score. By the end of the night, I was feeling pretty good about being y’old. My brain is still convinced that concerts are essential to youth and is trying to convince me to do more.

“Shut up, brain,” I said.

How do y’all feel about concerts? Been to any good ones lately? Tell me about it in the comments. Have a great week!